


And If I Sleep (Just To Dream Of You)

by SilverBlaze85



Series: Puppy Cargo Verse [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Reality, Drug Use, F/M, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Kiara - Freeform, h/c bingo fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-26 23:13:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverBlaze85/pseuds/SilverBlaze85
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wakes in three different realities, and there’s only one that she wants back into.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And If I Sleep (Just To Dream Of You)

**Title:** And If I Sleep (Just To Dream Of You)  
 **Word Count:** 3,990  
 **Fandom:** SPN, part of my Puppy Cargo verse  
 **Rating:** Ouhm, we'll say PG-13?  
 **Warnings:** None that I know of. Does fill my BINGO card for "Trapped In Alternate Realities" though...  
 **Summary:** She wakes in three different realities, and there’s only one that she wants back into.  
 _And if I sleep just to dream of you, I’ll wake without you there. Isn’t something missing? Isn’t something…_

_Evanescence, “Missing”_

* * *

Kiara came awake slowly and muzzily, the awakening that comes after being drugged. She’d been drugged enough times in her life to know the sensation… the fuzzy, not fully there fogging of her senses, and feeling just a half a beat behind the rest of the world. She shook her head hard, trying to toss off the lingering traces, confused as to why she was sitting in an armchair, and froze as a soft voice called her name just ahead of her.

She forced her eyes open, stomach roiling as the world spun a little. “Kiara? Hey, you with me now?” She dragged her gaze up to the strange man, fighting her body’s lethargy as she glared at him. He frowned, mahogany brows furrowing together as he tipped his head. “Hey, you okay?”

“Who are you?” she snapped, feeling her body burn through the lingering effects of the unknown substance. The hurt that flashed through his face was a bit of a surprise, and he closed his eyes, sighing heavily.

“Kiara, how many times do we have to do this?” His tone was tired and on the verge of heartbroken, and he huffed a wry laugh, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’m your brother, Alex. Remember?”

The pain that ripped through her heart was breathtaking, as quick and ruthless as any other time she heard that name, and she fought against the sharp sting of tears rising up. The panicked cries of terror from her twin, the last impressions she had of him, flooded through her again, blinding and painful. She shoved up from the chair, wrapping her arms tight around herself as she paced. “No, you’re not. He’s dead.”

“No, Kiara. We’ve been over this, again and again. Every time I’m here.” He leaned forward, catching her eye and holding it, looking at her intently. “I’m your brother.” He paused a few beats, tipped his head. “What do you remember this time?”

She glowered at him, but his bright grey eyes were so familiar, even if the rest of the face wasn’t. “Hunters found the Pack. They killed everyone, and Autumn got me out of the state. I went to live with Father’s family, until I turned 18. My brother is dead. I remember him dying. And I’ve never had a telepathic connection with anyone else, and certainly not with you.”

“No, sweetie. Autumn kidnapped you. She played the Pack, and kidnapped you. She had some Hunter friends, who knew a drug to sever the connection between twins. They wanted to turn you into a Hunting dog for them; be able to sniff out the things they Hunt.”

She snorted, harsh and disbelieving, even as part of her mind whirled at the possibility. “Yeah. Then why don’t I remember any of this? And why am I here? Wherever the hell ‘here’ is.” _Here_ , right now, is a falsely cheerful living room; golden light streaming through lacey curtains, illuminating the pink gingham wallpaper and rose-colored, overly-stuffed furniture. The watercolors on the wall couldn’t quite mask the sterility of the place, however.

“You’re in the Rivendell Behavioural Health Center, just outside Little Rock. You had a breakdown when Autumn drugged you with that stuff. Twins can’t handle the break of a bond well, and you didn’t have anyone to help you through it. Do you remember any of this?” His voice was low, quiet, and the words lit a panicked little bird in her chest, wings fluttering frantically against her ribs.

“No.” The word is whispered, almost a talisman against the thought of being mentally ill. But this ‘Alex’ seemed to think it’s an answer.

“You’ve been here for several years. Well, not _here_ , but not with the family.”

“Why am I still here?” She wants out, the idea of being trapped in here alarming, and he sighed quietly, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

“Because you’re still delusional. You’ve been telling Dr. Singer that you’ve been hunting, killing things. That you’ve made yourself a pack, have a family.” He laughed a little, the sound not humorous, but sad.

She could feel her hackles rising at the blatant challenge, and she raised a lip, leaning closer to her ‘twin’. “I’m not delusional. And you are NOT Alex. He _died_ , I felt it.” She didn’t realize she was raising her voice until he leaned back, hands up placating, eyes darting to the doorway nervously.

“Okay, okay, just… settle down. They won’t let me back for a few weeks if you get too riled up. Please. You’ve been doing very well the last several visits. Please.” His eyes were large, pleading, and she caught a glimpse of disappointment as Dean’s rough voice interrupted.

“We got problems over here guys?”

The relief that flooded her actually made her light headed, and she shook her head, crossed her arms as she stepped back. “Nah, we’re good, Dean. This bozo keeps thinking he’s my brother.”

Dean traded a wary glance with Alex, and the cold warning of _something not right_ tickled down her spine. Her wolf quivered, anxiety rising as she licked her lips, watching the silent interaction between the two males.

“Alright, I think visiting time is over for now, okay? Let’s get you back to your room.” Dean’s tone was the soothing that males tended to break out on females that were hysterical, and the thought made her hackles rise even more. She took another step back, and smacked firmly into Sam’s body.

When he clamped his hands over her wrists, letting Dean advance even further, Alex rising to argue, the wolf snapped. Something was horribly wrong in this scene, and the physical restraint was more than enough. Her form wavered for a split second as the human melted into canine, and though the transformation, Sam held tightly onto her wrist, prompting her to twist in his grip, bucking and snarling.

And when Sam wrapped his other hand around her muzzle, she writhed just enough to get it off, and bit deep into flesh and muscle; felt the hot rush of copper coat her tongue, the pained yelp from Sam as he stumbled back, clutching his wrist.

But she had forgotten the single most rule of pack fighting, and had taken her eyes off Dean for a moment too long. The needle bit just as deep and hard as she had, and the hot rush of drugs burned through her veins. She had a moment to snarl half-heartedly, the floor already spinning under her, and by the next breath, the darkness swarmed up and pulled her down ruthlessly.

****************

It took some work, to fight against the heavy blanket of drugs, but she used the lessons she’d been taught, kept her frame still and her breaths deep and slow, and analyzed sensations carefully. Time still felt off, a bit out of sync with herself, but otherwise…

The air smelled like the Den, but was curiously blank, missing something vital and important. Her wolf whined, uneasy with the discrepancy, and she tensed instinctively as her skin let her know that she was pressed against another. Warm human skin twisted over and under and around her, a steady breath feathering against her. She shifted a hip experimentally, wary when she realized she was nude under soft cloths that she assumed were sheets, atop a thickness that felt like a Den-nest.

The scent tickling her nose was driving her as crazy as the lack of _whatever_ that was irritating her wolf, and she hesitantly opened her eyes, bracing for a blow or a need to run.

Instead, her breath caught, tears rising fast and hard as she stared at the face she never thought she’d see again. He was older, dark stubble salted lightly with grey, dark brown hair flecked through with stray grey hairs as well. His eyes were framed by laugh-lines, his mouth bracketed by them as well, skin looser than it used to be, but still dark. And he was still the most amazing male she’d laid eyes on. She took a shaky breath in, the tears sliding down her skin as the rich scent settled warm and lazy in her lungs before drifting further south, curling hot and sneakily in her belly.

He murmured something, opening bright intense eyes, the same shade of blue that her Tank watches her with, concern and worry clearing the sleepy haze away. The first sob caught her by surprise, and she buried her face in the crook of his neck, letting the thick scent of Eli flood over her.

“Hey, what’s going on baby?” She shook her head, pressing tighter against him, and he sighed, shifting so he was laying on his back, tugging her along so she all but draped over him. One thick arm pressed against her lower back, keeping her in place and firmly grounding her; the other hand lazily and slowly traced random runes and symbols into her bare flesh, soothing and distracting.

The tears didn’t last long; they rarely did with her. She snuffled wateringly, rubbing the last of the tears off on the swell of his trapezius, feeling rather than hearing him chuckle. “Better now?”

She lifted her face, letting the smile that was tugging at her show through. She nodded, eyes flitting over the rugged features, mapping and memorizing all over again. Her wolf whined hard, upset about something, but she pushed it away, focusing every bit of attention she had on the man under her, and the callused hand that cupped her cheek, thumb brushing at the last of the moisture. She nuzzled against the warm hand, sighing quietly, and he smiled, slow and wickedly. “Hey there.”

She tipped her head just enough to press a kiss to the life line across his palm, rubbing her cheek against it again. “Hey yourself. Missed you.” He chuckled, jostling her a bit, and she squirmed at the sensation. His eyes glittered his intent for a split second before he moved, rolling them easily, until he was on top and nestled between her thighs, upper body braced on thick forearms.

“You _do_ realize that you just spent the last six hours curled against me, and the twenty-two hours before that with me, right?” he teased. He didn’t wait for an answer, ducking his jaw against her neck and rubbed, the stubble tickling and rubbing, and she shrieked, bucking as she laughed, shoving at wide shoulders.

“Fucker!”

“Ah, but ya still love me.” He rolled his hips against her, interest obvious, and she didn’t bother restraining the low groan as she tipped her head, letting him lay a trail of nips and nibbles along her shoulder and neck, stopping to suckle at her earlobe.

She couldn’t tell him why, but damn, she had missed him.

~~*^*~~

Later, after she had tucked herself against Eli’s side, ear pressed against the steady and very-much alive beat of his heart, she realized what her wolf wasn’t scenting. She frowned, tipped her head enough to rest her chin on his chest and met his eyes. “Where’s everyone else?”

He froze, eyes scanning her face for a long moment before he furrowed his brow, watching her intently. “Who else, baby?”

“The rest of the Pack.”

“Kiara, there isn’t anyone else.” He took a breath, caught her chin and forced her gaze to his, and murmured “Christo.”

“Ass. I’m not possessed.”

“No, but you’re not you, are you?” He smiled self-deprecatingly, shook his head. “You’re not my Kiara.”

“Why do you say that?” She stilled as he lifted her hand, thumb stroking the skin.

“This is why. Part of it, anyway. You’re not marked up, not like usual. This whole hand, it should be scarred up. Melted down silver and you on painkillers are not exactly a good combo.” He let go of her thumb, tapping his nose. “And you don’t smell quite right. More like milk than my Kiara.”

“Tell me what happened?” This wasn’t her Eli, she knew that logically, but her heart didn’t seem to care. Any Eli was better than none. He sighed a little, tapped her nose lightly.

“If you tell me yours.” She nodded, and tugged the blankets a bit higher. He resumed stroking her back, long sweeping movements that soothed and relaxed, eyes distant as he organized things. “Your Pack was killed when you were a baby. Never knew much about that… you didn’t like to talk about it, Solo.” She flinched hard at the Pack-Name. “Yeah, same tender issue there. Anyway, you grew up on the West Coast, with some family. Busted out on your own, got permission to open a Pack, and started hunting. With a capital H, of course. Something about when you were little, and two brothers that had helped. Anyway, I was in the Arizona pack, decided to join up. We had oh, eight? Nine members. Trained them up and everything. And there was a sweet and simple poltergeist hunt, down in Tennessee. Had the sigil to trap them memorized, the banishing spell quoted. We were about an hour out when your phone rang. Some chick named Dakota? Dallas? Memphis? Some goofy name like that. Anyway, she told you to use these hex bags instead. You never did seem to figure out how she knew you, or got ahold of your number, but, well… she did you a big-ass favor. Two poltergeists, which we didn’t expect. Blew both of the bastards out of the water. It was a thing of beauty.” He chuckled, eyes distant but sparkling with remembered mirth.

She waited, but he seemed to have drifted into a different mental memory. She pressed a kiss to the twisted scar part way between his collarbone and sternum, relishing the steady thump below her lips. He stretched, coming back to himself, and his calloused thumb resumed its nonsensical tracing of symbols. “I don’t understand it, but the rest of the Pack got spooked by it. Thought the Alpha should have done more research, and disbanded. It’s just you and me now.”

The quiet spills out and spreads for a while, until Kiara shifts against her mate, breathing his scent deep into starved lungs. “My world, it’s… the complete opposite of here. That hunt, you didn’t make it out.” He inhales sharply, squeezing her tight against him, and the tears spill free. “The Pack didn’t disband though, we still Hunt as needed. But I take most of them, when I can.” She props her chin on his chest, staring deep into the blue eyes.

“So you are Solo there.”

“Mmm, not so much as you would think. Got two little pups that you left me with. And those two brothers I mentioned. They help the wounds you left,” she murmurs, smiling as Eli tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Got a Pack, got a family… I do okay, I think.”

“Tell me about them?” She knows, and he knows, that it’s a distraction technique, but it buys more time with him, so she does, letting the anecdotes and memories flow as they will, painting a picture for this male that won’t have his own pups.

And when Morpheus starts to summon her, she fights as best she can. Somehow, lingering in the back of her grey matter, she knows… if she sleeps, she’ll lose him again. And having him in her arms, warm and alive and breathing again, and knowing that it can’t last, is shredding her soul apart all over again. The slumber won’t hurt, but she doesn’t know if her heart can handle the pain of waking up alone again. So she fights, until she can’t any longer.

******************************

Kiara wakes the third time, heart sore and fully aware that she’s back to the proper time. Everything feels like it’s supposed to, and the room is one she knows intimately. She’s curled up on this bed with the pups more than a few times, and she can faintly catch the scents of Dean and Sam. Loss wells up in her again, and she grits her teeth, blinking rapidly as her vision goes watery. She’s mourned the loss of her mate enough, but it still takes a while to bury the ache and pain again.

She dresses, a little concerned as she does that she doesn’t scent her cubs, and her jeans are stiff with dried blood in spots, and they reek of exhaust and fumes. She wrinkles her nose but tolerates it, at least until she can rummage in her duffle downstairs, and get some coffee and answers if she’s lucky.

Sam’s staring into his cup of coffee, faint light glinting off his watch as his left hand holds up his head when she makes her way into the kitchen. His right is wrapped haphazardly in gauze, and she doesn’t think twice before brushing her fingertips over his forearm to activate the healing.

She doesn’t expect the yelp and the startle from him, or the complete absence of the burning sensation when she heals before his arm jerks out of her grip.

“Whoa, chill out,” she says as she takes a step back, hands held up disarmingly. “Didn’t mean to spook you.”

Sam watches her for a second, eyes wary and posture tense, before he relaxes a little. It hurts. He’s not been wary with her since she was a puppy, and she’s still off enough from whatever drugs she was given, and the heartache of the encounter with Eli. Sam nods, shoulders still tense, and she carefully skirts him to get a cup of coffee. She doesn’t sit at the table though, resting against the counter lightly. “Um, what happened?”

“What happened is you can’t follow directions,” Dean growls from the living room turned library, and she flinches at the anger in his voice. He comes in a few moments later, drops a thick tome on the table before glancing at her. “You ask for my help on a hunt, you follow my orders. If you can’t do that, you can find someone else, got it?” She nods meekly, a little pissed but a lot hurt and confused, and as much sass as she gives Dean, she still loves and respects the man. She doesn’t know what she did to lose that respect, but it hurts, badly.

“Dean, lighten up on her,” Sam admonishes lightly as he tugs the book closer, giving Kiara a glance. “What do you remember?”

She slides out of Dean’s way as he stalks to the fridge, flinching when bottles clatter inside as he yanks the door open and pulls out a beer, not even glancing at her as he cracks it open with a hiss. She hesitantly glances at Sam, who’s still watching her, and starts sorting through her memories. “Not much? Some weird dreams, but that’s about it.”

“Do you remember what we were hunting?” he inquires, and she digs a bit harder, pieces sliding away from her haphazardly. There’s a sense of urgency, of triumph, and she hazards a guess.

“Something new? Well, something I’ve not hunted before, but you have.” It sounds right, and she nods a little to herself. “I needed your experience.” It also explains where the boys are… a new hunt, and needing the Winchesters, she’d have left them with the Pack.

“It was a Djinn,” Dean mutters, and huffs a sigh. “You found a Djinn, and wanted to go after it. We agreed, if you followed our lead.” The pieces slide again, and she remembers being in her wolf form, remembers catching a scent, sharp and dusty sand and burning dark magic, and a glimpse of something moving, of breaking into a run and Dean yelling for her to get back.

“It was circling around back,” she murmurs, tasting the words. It sounds right, feels right.

“Instead, you rushed in stupid and blind. Damn near got yourself killed, and then you turned and attacked Sam.”

Guilt and horror fills her, and her stomach churns alarmingly. This… she remembers the taste of copper in her mouth from the dream, remembers the give of flesh, but it’s no different, no more real than the feel of the armchair she was sitting on, or the feel of Eli over her. Her eyes drift to Sam’s arm, knows the wound under the gauze is her fault, her fuck-up, and she shivers, ashamed and a bit fearful of Dean.

Everyone and their brother knows that you don’t hurt Sam.

Sam sighs, closing the book and pushing it away a little. “Dean, this isn’t the right one. I’m telling you, it’s in the basement. I remember putting it there.” The older brother just levels a glare at Sam, who looks like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “Please. I can let Parker know what they’re hunting, but I need that book to double check.” He waits until they hear the creak of the basement door opening before turning hazel eyes to Kiara. “You really scared him.”

“You mean pissed him off,” she mutters, and Sam inclines his head in agreement.

“That too.” He watches her for a few breaths, eyes distant, before he refocuses on her. “He told you to stop, to come back. Why didn’t you listen?”

“It was circling around back, and I knew I could catch up to it.” That’s not quite the full truth, it was more that she wanted the kill, that she knew better than the older Hunters. But she’s not telling Sam that.

Sam seems to know though, and the disappointment coming off him stinks like burned lemons, sharp and unpleasant. His thumb is toying with the edge of the gauze, and she tries to clearly telegraph her intentions when she steps over to the table, resting the tips of her fingers along his wrist. Her heart trips a beat when there’s no spark, no surge of transference, and she blinks a few time, until Sam withdraws his wrist and offers a rueful look. “The Djinn’s venom is likely still working through your system. It’s only been a few hours, and it dosed you twice,” he offers, and she nods absently, worrying at her thumbnail. It’s rare for her to not have the healing at her whim, and it’s disconcerting to realize that she’s not only inflicted harm onto another, but failed to heal them. She openly flinches when Dean’s steps echo up the stairs, and she edges back until she bumps against the counter. Her emotions are tumbling like pups at play, and she can’t quite stop the shiver of feeling trapped when Dean’s broad shoulders block the easy escape route. She fights to keep her form human and not wolf, but it wavers dangerously when Dean thumps another ancient book onto the table. “Thank you,” Sam murmurs, watching Kiara more than Dean or the offering. She swallows hard, but stays human, up to the moment when Dean turns and rakes a glance over her.

“You hurt?” She shakes her head, and when he turns his back, and quits trying to refrain from shifting to her wolf, ignoring the scream of muscles that aren’t pleased with the transformation again so soon, and compromised as she is, and her paws are tugging at the latch of the screen door before she’s fully aware she’s at the door. “Kiara?” Dean’s voice follows her, but the door gives way, and she bolts past, twisting and turning in her running until she’s wedged underneath an old Volkswagen Rabbit, rusting away in a forgotten corner. The fence at her back, tire pressed against her side, should make her feel cornered, but it feels safe to know there’s only one angle that Dean can attack her from, and she just burrows deeper into her wolf, letting the canine soothe and let her escape from the disgust and fear that she has.  



End file.
